


Catch me, even if it's an illusion

by seoulfulnights



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Changki Bingo, M/M, Post-Break Up, and he swears he doesn't have an alcohol problem, changkyun was his muse, intrusive thoughts and selfloathing, kihyun has issues, lost in the dream inspired, meeting at a party again, photographer ki, they're both broken man, vague smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 10:29:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18386612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seoulfulnights/pseuds/seoulfulnights
Summary: Considering his close friendship with Hyunwoo, it was a safe bet to assume Jooheon most certainly will be present at the older’s birthday party as well. Hyungwon says something from beside him, frog lips rounding the words lazily as he warns about glass breaking and cutting through flesh, but honestly, the photographer could care less if thunder struck him right in the middle of Hyunwoo’s living right now.At least he wouldn’t have to face Changkyun.





	Catch me, even if it's an illusion

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit heavy, Kihyun has a very bad perception of himself so proceed with caution. The ending isn't as happy as it first seems.
> 
> [changki bingo| LVL2 card B| Photographer/Model (of sorts)]

There is no such thing as gray. All his life, he’s avoided this color like the plague, the impure mix irking his need for things to be in order. Separated, clearly divided. There is black and there is white, and putting the two together only results in mud, filth and ridicule, unsettling his artistic eye. He keeps these colors locked into his heart, never to touch one another, and pours everything else from the spectrum onto his always bright illustrations, contrast striking yet bringing vivid imagery to life without disturbing the onlooker. Black is empty and white is bleak, both absorbing any trace of soul engrained onto the chromogenic film, so fusing them together could only result into void.

That sheer blankness vacuumed all of his colors as dark clouds took over his life. He couldn’t see the reds or yellows or greens anymore, nor any hue caught in between. All Kihyun could do is soak in the acid rain burning all his art, destroying what he created and reducing his vision to one of a blind bat. Sometimes, he dares to search for silver linings, he looks after the sun again and hopes that the rain will stop, yet he comes across the moon, blank and cold and framed on his desk still. It’s laughable how he still has that photograph there to remind him why the skies have cracked open and who exactly took away his colors. Even more so since he’s the one who banished the satellite, his inspiration, his everything.

Alcohol, Kihyun has come to learn, can do a wonderful job in helping him forget about the frame and blur the grays into dusty hues of blues and make the hazy shapes around him fascinating enough to pretend he is not hurting. At least he could distinguish the rich burgundy of his import wine swirling in his glass. Hyungwon insists on reminding him it’s his third as though Kihyun can’t count on his own. Just to spite his friend, the plum haired artist bottoms up the rest of his glass with two long sips before heading back to the open bar for a refill. He’s still being nice in the end, only because he promised Hyunwoo not to cause any trouble on his birthday. It’s been months since he engaged in any sort of social event, dodging all invitation from friends knowing they’re all haunted by the lifeless white light.

The moment he steps out of the kitchen and into the main area of his friend’s apartment, Kihyun regrets ever making any type of promise. He can feel how his burning face goes cold and pale and he probably looks like a blowup doll with his mouth hanging open like that. If stupidity ever decided one sunny day to take the shape of a person, Kihyun has always thought that it would be embodied by the loud, overexcited pupper known by the name of Lee Minhyuk. After all, he’s never met a person more scatter-brained or prone to make bad decisions and completely throw his life away – he’s totally referring to how Minhyuk dropped out of college after only one term. Or how Minhyuk decided adopting every stray dog he finds on the streets is a good call. Or how Kihyun should have never trusted him when he was invited to the party.

Tonight though, just like that time months ago in a small apartment in Daehakno, he realizes that stupidity has actually taken preference in his shorter and more handsome self. It really shouldn’t have been that hard to figure out he’s collected enough bad karma over the years for something exactly like this to happen, but perhaps the spirit he ingested messed up his memory in different ways than he asked for. Actually, he needn’t even bother to ask for the guest list beforehand. Things were always more simple than he thought them to be. Overcomplicating his life, however, came second nature to the photograph who neglected to see such a plain connection anyone could have anticipated. Considering his close friendship with Hyunwoo, it was a safe bet to assume Jooheon most certainly will be present at the older’s birthday party as well.

And where there’s Jooheon, there’s a shadow following him close behind, dressed all in black and with a hoodie thrown over his head, silent and awkward and quirky and settling the ends of all his nerves on fire. _Please don’t look at me, please don’t look at me_ , Kihyun keeps saying over and over in his head, clasping his empty wine-glass firmly in his hand. Hyungwon says something from beside him, frog lips rounding the words lazily as he warns about glass breaking and cutting through flesh, but honestly, the photographer could care less if thunder struck him right in the middle of Hyunwoo’s living right now.

 

At least he wouldn’t have to face Changkyun.

 

Being in the same room with the younger tech genius is just as smothering now as it was four months ago, crammed in the black haired’s tiny shoebox and not saying much until everything spilled out onto the floor and his camera lenses cracked into thousands of broken kaleidoscopes. He catches a glimpse of that chaotic ray of colors in that moment. The newly arrived guests shake hands with the birthday boy after giving him a rectangular box containing, probably, some sort of gadget from the hacking duo that Hyunwoo has no idea how to use and will end up somehow in Minhyuk’s sly hands. Kihyun is close enough to notice the heavy eyebags beneath the younger’s obsidian orbs, but too far to recognize which cologne he put on right before stepping out the door.

 

“Happy birthday, hyung.”

 

That husky voice is unforgettable – it keeps haunting Kihyun no matter where he goes. The number of times he turned around in the store after hearing a similar pitch is higher than he’d openly admit sober. Good thing he’s well past that staggering point when excruciating pain inhibits him to move even one foot from beneath his blanket while all he wishes for is to be about six down and buried. He instinctively searches every small detail to memorize in his shallow mind, from the way Changkyun’s fringe has grown and falls across his forehead all frizzy, to his shoulders obviously tense beneath the Wu-tang hoodie. His piercings remained consistent, one lobe hanging lower than the other from the weight of earrings, and his lips are as chapped and crusty as Kihyun remembers them to be before he shoved lip balm and scrubs under the nerd’s perfectly shaped nose.

Changkyun looks tired and in no mood to be at a party, yet the photographer still thinks he’s the most beautiful in the entire house, even when put beside Minhyuk and Hyungwon. Four months ago, he would have shouted and nagged and thrown a tantrum over the other not taking proper care of himself or still dressing like he’s in college then he would send him back and refuse to be seen in public unless he changes his outfit. In retrospect, he had been a total asshole, but Changkyun wasn’t easier on him either. Maybe it’s truly for the best that they’re here like this, each with their own friends, doing their thing and celebrating Hyunwoo to the extents their current state of mind allows them. Shit, he needs another glass and quick. 

However, Kihyun’s been so busy ogling his ex-boyfriend, not even trying to mask his longing gaze that he’s caught red handed. When he comes to his senses and remembers why he left his cozy spot seated on the island kitchen, Changkyun’s already noticed him, raven eyes boring deep into his soul. Kihyun takes his chance for escape, runs to the bar and grabs a bottle of Japanese whiskey before heading straight to the balcony, praying to all deities above that the other man will have half the decency not to go looking for him. With the bottle hugged tightly at his chest and heart beating like he’s finished a marathon - well, he did if you count running from real life, he squeezes his eyes shut when the door slides open again.

“At least drink like a somewhat normal human being and pour it first in a glass,” Hyungwon mutters, annoyance evident in how he spits out each syllable while handing his best friend a mug with two ice cubes at the bottom. Kihyun narrows his eyes at the obscene message written on the red ceramic, no doubt one of Minhyuk’s cups, but he takes it anyway after popping the cap of the bottle open. “You should teach me subtlety, really. The way you dashed out like a gazelle when he looked at you, priceless,” Hyungwon goes on with his characteristic sarcasm. Kihyun usually hates having to deal with it. Right now he absolutely despises it.

“Fuck you,” he glares at the taller man whose face appears to be stuck in an impassible expression as he occupies the only chair available. The corner of Kihyun’s mouth twitches after the first taste of the liquor, bitter and stinging on his tongue, which reminds him how badly he hates drinking hard stuff. He’d much rather have something made out of fruits, preferably rose grapes. Changkyun used to call him a ‘wine mom’ for a reason, nose scrunched in objection whenever he could feel it on Kihyun’s breath. Maybe that’s why the photographer is determined to have more and more each day, though there’s also comfort in knowing those memories will be drowned as much as his poor liver.

“No thanks. Hoseok does a much better job already,” Hyungwon replies casually and sips from his own cup - still the first, he could never handle alcohol which is exactly how he ended up with his other half but there’s a story for another time. So maybe there are some positive side effects to drinking, Kihyun reasons as he continues descending on the path of self-damnation. However, he already knows his other half won’t be waiting on its end. After all, Changkyun is in the room next door. “You need to get over it, Kihyun. You’re the one who broke up with him and it’s really pathetic at this point. Do you plan to become an alcoholic just to make sure Changkyun doesn’t take you back?”

The purple haired winces hearing those cold words, Hyungwon’s monotone voice seasoning salt over his open wound and attacking all his weak points like a hungry hyena. He almost forgot he’s the one who shouted at Changkyun that if they can’t stand each other anymore they should just break it off, too blinded by the bitter betrayal that his then boyfriend did nothing to stop him from leaving. Nausea takes over, twisting his stomach in knots and he holds back from leaning over the railway and pouring his guts out on some poor pedestrian. Instead, Kihyun makes the mistake to look at Hyungwon and, implicitly, behind him through the glass door that separates them from what feels like a whole other world.

Changkyun is still by Jooheon’s side with Minhyuk talking loudly and gesticulating wildly, what about, he could only guess. The dimpled blond responds animatedly, trying to include his partner in crime in the discussion. Everybody seems to be having fun inside judging by their smiles, while Kihyun and Hyungwon are drinking by themselves, isolated from the imposed merriness. “I liked him, really. He’s smart and doesn’t like many people, he prefers spending time alone and reads genuine good books. Why did you two break up again?” Changkyun is not smiling. Has he even smiled once in the past months? Kihyun can’t even remember how Changkyun’s smiling face looks like.

That’s a lie. He remembers it so vividly he could draw it on the back of his eyelids, in fact, he already has it there and the smile always returns to its mesmerizing brightness when Kihyun’s asleep and Changkyun suddenly appears beside him. His eyes are twinkling and his teeth are showing, lips stretching and making his dimples pop out right as Kihyun cups his face and kisses him with all his might. “Because we weren’t good anymore.” But those are just dreams or memories at most, quickly shifting towards their last days, the grim winter days when they barely crossed eyes in town, each demanding they’re too busy working. Avoidance is a slippery slope that projected them to where they find themselves right now. “We weren’t good together.”

“Bullshit,” Hyungwon calls and Kihyun almost explodes when he hears the sound of a lighter going off. He absolutely hates smoking, yet never managed to convince his best friend to cease no matter how much he nagged him. Changkyun used to have the same bad habit when they just met but thankfully broke it in just a few weeks after Kihyun refused so rudely to kiss him if he tasted or smelled like tobacco. “You called quits because you were scared,” the taller man continues, taking a long drag of that stick. The photographer would very much like it for his friend to shove that and the pep talk up his nonexistent ass then throw himself off a cliff. And drag the leech called Hoseok with him.

“There you are babe, I’ve been looking for you,” the brown haired man says, voice distorted by the sudden loud music that fills the balcony once the door is opened and Hoseok joins the two best friends. There’s no alternate reality where this guy would leave Hyungwon off his radar for a solid ten minute span. Kihyun swirls the coopery drink and lifts his elbow until the last drop burns his throat while the lanky pest interrogating him earlier gets scooped off his feet like he was lightweight, only to be pulled back but this time in Hoseok’s lap who takes over the chair.

The shortest’s legs begin to give out after he’s been up and about shooting for a magazine cover all day, and he deserves that spot much more than this pair of unrealistically happy good looking fuckers. “Changkyun is here by the way,” Hoseok insists to add and Kihyun has to physically restrain himself from throwing the five year aged whiskey at the physiotherapist. “That’s why he’s hiding behind the bottle,” Hyungwon attests, not even attempting to stick to his best friend’s side. The traitor. “Because he’s stuck in the sensorimotor stage in his cognitive development and thinks that hiding his head in the sandbox makes him disappear. He didn’t learn yet that real life has no mute or block button.”

“You two are the most insufferable couple to have ever walked on earth, I swear to God,” Kihyun mumbles and hesitates before pouring himself two digits of scotch, almost immediately making it disappear. He also swears he does _not_ have a problem but the context made it impossible for him to do anything _but_ this. “I’m not one of your lost souls Hyungwon, so stop with the whole social worker crap you’re trying to pull right now. I don’t need you to make me realize I still love him, okay?” The confession is not easily teared out of him and he nearly chokes on the words as they struggle to make their way into the world only to crash on the terracotta tiles along with the red ugly cup. His ears are tingling assaulted by the sharp sound of his beating heart, the smothering rhythm calling out a name he so desperately searched to forget.

Air. He’s trying to inhale as much as his ribcage opens up to allow, yet all the little sniffles he lets out without his consent get in the way. When he closes his eyes, he’s back in Changkyun’s studio apartment. He can trace out the shape of his turned back working over two laptops at a time while he himself is tinkering at his camera, and the tension from weeks long of not saying anything about what’s really bothering them lingers in the stuffy room. “This is ridiculous,” he finally said, getting up from his boyfriend’s sofa-bed and quickly ending the distance between them. Changkyun didn’t look up from whatever code he’s been pretending to write for an hour now, further fueling Kihyun’s anger. “Would you look at me or can’t you even stand my face now?”

“What’s gotten into you, I don’t want to fight again,” the younger replied, his voice irritated and groggy. He hadn’t slept in two days and the photographer was very much aware of it, despite not being in touch with the other for a week. He doesn’t quite remember all that was said afterwards, just the raw rage and fury and a terrible, unjustified need to hit Changkyun. All he wanted was for the black haired to wrap his arms around him tightly, to tell him that it’s alright, that _they_ are alright as long as they have each other. That the pettifog they had going on for weeks on end will dissipate because it meant nothing in the end, nothing in comparison to how much they loved each other. “No matter what I say, you’ll jump at my throat. Nothing I do is good for you. I’m tired of your nagging, Kihyun.” 

And ominously, as though somebody up there was pulling a joke on them, Changkyun’s elbow nudged Kihyun’s camera set right on the edge of the desk, making it tumble down onto the hardwood and cracking the lenses beyond repair, similar to the fissure disrupting their relationship ever since. The color drained from Changkyun’s face and it drained from Kihyun’s life. Sometimes, he think backs at the hopeless expression on his boyfriend’s face and how much he resembled a lost puppy in the moment, despite only being able to see it distorted by trembling water. With tears streaming down his cheeks like the Han river itself and a glare to match the evilest of demons, Kihyun spat out through gritted teeth, “You have made your point. I hope I never see you again, Im Changkyun.” 

And he hasn’t seen him since that ugly green door was slammed closed in his wake, only to be reopened now violently. When salty tears choke up his windpipe, Kihyun realizes he let go of all his frustration and all that anger he repressed for a long time, crying so pathetically in front of his friends. He wipes furiously at his eyes, trying to erase any trace of weakness before taking a big bite from his beating heart and going back inside. The party is at full swing by now as they’re approaching midnight. It’s easy to spot the hosts with Minhyuk shamelessly giving his boyfriend a lap dance in front of everyone with eyes to see, and Kihyun can easily locate some of his own acquaintances and old friends around. But he doesn’t feel like socializing, he doesn’t feel like existing in the first place so hopefully, nobody will notice him sneaking outside the apartment. 

When he reaches the ground floor, the photographer feels faint and about to collapse as his foot touches the last stair. He hasn’t seen any flash of black on his way out, yet the thought unsettles him unexpectedly while billions of possibilities arise in his mind. Has Changkyun already left? Or maybe he’s hiding in some dark corner with a stranger, flirting, kissing, touching them like he’s once touched Kihyun himself. The nausea returns in full force and this time he doesn’t hesitate to vomit on the cubic stones that make up the side road leading to Hyunwoo’s apartment. He almost misses it, so low and subtle, but spending time with Changkyun somehow enhanced his ability to pick up on even such light sounds. A sound of disgust, a scoff that he can’t mistake.

Surely, when he turns around he sees him, leaning on against the brick wall so casually without a care in the world and taking long drags out of a Blue Marlboro cigarette, the same brand he used to smoke when he met Kihyun. The street lights cast such artistic shadows on his face and it’s all black and white again, no drop of color just like Kihyun’s life has been ever since. It’s cold outside, despite the summer month, and the photographer wishes for nothing more than to snuggle up into the other man’s arms where he knows it’s warm and safe, where he has a home. Or better said, where he used to have a home. “You’re smoking,” Kihyun dumbly says at a loss of words, unable to do anything else but openly stare at the beautiful man in front of him, heart clenching at the reminder of loss. 

“I’m surprised you can see straight, you stink like a drunkard,” Changkyun throws back, making Kihyun flinch at the coldness of his voice and his unfazed expression. It brings goosebumps onto his still warm skin and twists his stomach in knots. His feet carry him closer without even thinking about it, until his shoes stand parallel with Changkyun’s own sneakers, their styles contrasting in such a complementary manner as always. It could make another good photograph, Kihyun thinks as he slowly dares to look up from the ground and face the owner of his heart. There’s a layer of ice frosting that abys of black he could get lost in, a layer he can’t help but feel like he is responsible of. “I am still older than you, brat, watch how you speak to me,” Kihyun challenges, proud how he managed not to stutter. 

Changkyun disregards him way too easily, if the roll of his eyes or the mocking smirk are to indicate something. He puffs his cigarette slightly amused, smoke choking Kihyun as it hits him with the power of a thousand things left unspoken. “You never acted older. A hyung wouldn’t be so selfish, he wouldn’t get wasted at his friend’s birthday party and then ditch him without even saying goodbye,” the coder counters smoothly with an arrogance Kihyun didn’t think him capable of. He doesn’t even question how the other knew this, even though frustration makes him want to pull at his dyed locks. It feels like they’re playing tennis and he has to run all across the court but his backhand is weak when alcohol slurs his speech. How is Kihyun supposed to win this losing game? 

The smoke comes to an abrupt halt as the cigarette falls to the ground and is stepped on for good measure. Changkyun straightens up his back, gives his ex-boyfriend a once-over with a completely blank expression, and then tries to move past him but Kihyun makes sure to be a pest and put himself in the way. “I couldn’t stand it anymore,” he finds himself suddenly on the defensive, pouring out rummy confessions. “I couldn’t stand everyone being happy and in love while I’ve been miserable all this time. I couldn’t stand Hyungwon and Hoseok trying to give me some precious life lesson on morals. And more than them,” he stops his sudden venting as the overwhelming feelings get clogged up in his throat. However, there’s a hazardous fire lit up inside his chest when he looks at Changkyun’s image, so handsome in spite of the obvious exhaustion and anguish burdening him down. “I couldn’t stand knowing you’re here and don’t care about me.” 

The dash of wind blowing between the two of them is unbearably cold and incredibly loud, deafening even to Kihyun’s red ears. His face is burning, still stained with frustrated tears and flushed from alcohol and something else. The proximity with Changkyun is unnerving him and his legs once again feel like giving in but he won’t risk a trust fall on the other. He’d probably just hit concrete. “You’ve just proved my point,” Changkyun scoffs, the smell of liquor on Kihyun’s breath making him flinch. “No matter the occasion, you can’t be the least empathetic and put somebody else first. If you are miserable, then we should all be. If you are happy, then who the fuck cares about the rest, right? People really don’t change.” 

The photographer swears the next thing Changkyun does is purely just to drive him crazy, reaching into his back pocket and taking out a second cigarette then sticking it between his lips. A lighter appears in his hand out of nowhere and the flame reflects in Kihyun’s dark orbs like a dirty mirror while Changkyun blows the smoke right in his face mockingly. “What would you even know about that, huh?!” Kihyun explodes, stupefied his dongsaeng, a man whom he considered his friend for years and then his lover, could have such a low opinion of his person, breakup aside. “You never bothered! You-you never gave a fuck about us in the end. All you did was work and occasionally when you remembered you have a boyfriend we went on dates. You never appreciated what I do - what I did for you!” 

Changkyun keeps his stoicism, calmly taking a drag out of his latest addiction, admittedly longer than usual, and then just as smoothly blowing the smoke directly into the older’s face with no trace of remorse crossing his face for making the other even more uncomfortable. He wanted Kihyun to choke. “What you did for me?” he parrots with a tiny smirk pulling at his lips. “Don’t reproach me for something I never asked of you. Instead of cooking dinner and picking up a fight with me for whatever your borderline brain was complaining about at the moment, you could have paid the least bit of attention to me. To us. We were long falling apart but guess your lens couldn’t capture that no matter how much you zoomed in.” Harsh wind breaks out between the two figures as though conveyed by the tense atmosphere.

  
Never in his life has Kihyun wished so badly for a sudden storm to overtake Seoul, thunder to crack the skies and raindrops to cover his own shameful tears. He knows, he knows in the end it’s his own insecurities that worked against them. He’s been overbearing, overwhelming, always complaining and never appreciating as he should have. He’s been scared of letting Changkyun in to see what a small man he truly is, height jokes aside, scared that once Changkyun has seen the true Yoo Kihyun he’ll be disgusted by all the ugliness inside his soul. Hyungwon has warned him many times, fucking psychologist that he is, that all the rage boiled up for every little mistake he reproaches himself would eventually blow up in his face directed to the people he cares most. 

Im Changkyun, if you could excuse the latent romantic inside Kihyun, has been and still is the love of his life and a prime example of how his own problems were shifted into a sabotage mechanism. _We weren’t good together_ , he’s lied to his best friend earlier when in reality Changkyun has been the best thing that ever happened to his miserable life, the bright moon bringing light into his dark nights, the smile that could turn his worries to dust and a heart whose rhythm undeniably matched his own. They were so good together Kihyun might have dared to say it was meant to be. But if they were meant for each other, how have they gotten to this point where their natural playfulness became a bitter spite and venomous lines? 

The younger keeps smoking calmly, trying to push Kihyun over the edge of desperation or smother him in a cloud of nicotine. His eyes are directed at nothing in particular, perhaps admiring the red brick of the building next door or looking at the stray cat watching them from the trashcan a few feet away. He seems so collected and Kihyun always thought that if he met a man who has got his shit together for real, it must be Im Changkyun. A man who knows where he stands with himself and what he looks for in life. A man of few but very calculated words, like the numbers he introduces in the gibberish lines Kihyun has never got a grip of. And finally, a man he apparently never understood. 

“I slept with six other people since we broke up. And it didn’t help me one bit.” The photographer’s eyes widen at what he hears. Surely, this couldn’t be? Yet, indeed, when he looks up from his shaking fists, Changkyun is crying as well, quietly, a profound sense of mourning cast over his face as he grieves their lost dreams. Mourning all that they were and even more what they could have been. And in that moment, Kihyun realizes Changkyun has already seen all the ugly edges of his pitiful soul from the very start and still decided to remain. He stayed and fought for them yet the older’s attacks only got more personal with time and eventually teared down his steel resistance and he, too, cracked under the heavy pressure of not being enough. 

“Hyung,” Kihyun almost faints hearing the appellative out of Changkyun’s mouth after such a long time. “I am not Hoseok who will dive head first into disaster for Hyungwon just because he loves him. And I am not Minhyuk who claps at everything with hearts in his eyes and throws glitter on top of Hyunwoo-hyung.” He wants to nod along and admit how Changkyun is right, of course he is not like any of their friends, and of course he has a very different perspective on love and life and how things should go down. But he’s too frozen in place to even blink. “I am me, Ki,” the younger’s voice sounds almost pleading and when their eyes meet for the first time in months, Kihyun gets to see how truly vulnerable Changkyun has placed his heart into his tiny dirty hands. And how he so cruelly crashed it. 

“You once told me I am the algorithm you want to figure out.” The cigarette has almost been smoked out by itself at his point, ash dropping to the ground right on the tip of Kihyun’s left shoe and even though every inch of his body feels numb in the moment, it burns a hole right through him. Changkyun takes one last drag to finish it and then shoots the last bullet to pierce through his former lover’s bleeding chest, “Sadly, you have given up before unlocking even the basics.” Instinctively, Kihyun reaches out and grabs at the linty hoodie, so frayed and worn after too many washes and years, a cloth he used to roll his eyes at whenever he picked it from the laundry basket yet now he sees it for what it truly represented. A great metaphor for their relationship.

 

There’s nothing about himself that Kihyun deems agreeable, nothing remotely worthy of attention or consideration or even worse, admiration. His own image is beyond flawed and odious, whether a mirror is involved or it’s just some self-reflection in the middle and therefore, the only place he allowed himself to occupy freely is behind the thick lens that capture what the eye so easily misses. Grabbing a camera, hiding behind it, he could become invisible to the world and frame everything else that inspired real beauty. Like Changkyun, who has been by far his most beloved muse and whose photo he still carries in his wallet, as his lockscreen, on top of his nightstand on darker nights. 

It started off like that, asking a friend to model for him in his free time and then shooting sessions turned to dates and developing the film soon became a couple activity. Having this intelligent, handsome man by his side sparked more joy in his life than anything Kihyun has yet to experience. No matter if they were having a heated discussion about cereal packaging or lying on the beach in complete silence admiring the waves, in spite of all the little fires igniting Kihyun’s heart beat for no other, he had only one person in his mind at all times, and his body trembled only under Changkyun’s touch. Yet in spite of how close he clung to Changkyun in the dark moonless night, in spite of how much he wanted to give the dimpled boy the whole universe he so rightfully deserved, Kihyun couldn’t allow himself to give even a fragment of his heart. And without thinking, he gave the other his whole soul instead. 

 

The voices in the back of his head got louder then, twirling and irking every aspect of their relationship until it had been turned into a mess with no escape, a rotting hell where a worthless human like him couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ receive the love he so desperately craved. Changkyun would make a step forward and come out of the shell he too built around himself, a comfortable and secluded shell where nobody was allowed to enter providing the same kind of comfort Kihyun’s camera did. Kihyun in turn would push him away, put the distance back between them scared of returning the same sense of vulnerability and being left abandoned. He would snap and lock himself away in fear of wearing his heart on the sleeve, secretly expecting Changkyun to push farther, just a tiny bit more to make him see that he’s lost inside this miserable dream his sick mind conjured. 

But Changkyun didn’t for he too entered a similar brain distorting mist, confused beyond apprehension by the hows and whys and what nows. He ended up copying Kihyun’s learning mechanism, joining a push and pull game so toxic and poisoning, a game which broke them first and then broke them apart. Where Kihyun showed a weak spot, awaiting some affection or displaying it on his own terms, Changkyun saw distrust and a trap, a test he had no way of passing without compromising all that he grew to become. Under the light June rain, with a crying Kihyun holding onto him for dear life, the boy felt empty and clean and his arms circle the older on their own. “I want to go home,” Kihyun sobs, face buried in Changkyun’s neck inhaling the wet smell of tobacco and powder covered sweat and hand resting right on top of Changkyun’s heart. 

And so Changkyun takes him home to his modest shoebox in a godforsaken neighborhood with the same defect street lights and cheap landlords, to an apartment he so detested once the photographer closed its door. Unbothered by the thick dust or the messy clothes, Kihyun doesn’t untangle himself from the one he’s so afraid to lose not even for one moment. “Please,” he keeps asking Changkyun, not knowing what he’s actually asking himself but knowing that only Changkyun can put at rest all those little fires that turned into a whole hazard for his soul. “Please,” he asks again and Changkyun gives in, pulls him closer and cups his cheek like he’s something precious, something he wants to protect. Closing his eyes and letting more tears fall, Kihyun does his best to believe that and melts in his lover’s kiss. 

 _I slept with six other people since we broke up._ The words ring in his ears like an alarm and he feels like those six other people are smearing dirt all over his skin when instead Changkyun presses kisses on his fragile throat. He feels like he’s the joke of those people, he can hear them laugh behind his back but to his face, laugh with Changkyun about what a lost cause he’s become and their amusement is smothering, it leaves no air to breathe. The voices get louder with each touch, each caress and whisper, and when he rolls on top of the younger bare as day, they momentarily stop hushing about themselves, fascinated by a dark abyss. “I love you,” Kihyun confesses and the words feel foreign on his tongue after all these months but Changkyun takes what he can. And he takes and takes, encouraging Kihyun to cry and to move and to say whatever he feels like saying. “Catch me,” he begs knowing he’s about to fall again, “even if it’s an illusion.”

 

 

 

When morning comes, he does not dare open his eyes and instead he prays to fall asleep again only for Changkyun to hold him like this some more. There’s light cracking through the drapes and warmth all around himself, the blanket falling just right to cover his body and his lover’s nudity and making the splitting headache more bearable. He does not dare move, fearing last night has been nothing more than a fantasy, a dream he cannot get out. A dream he does not want to get out of. Yet Changkyun lay right there, hooded eyes not quite open neither closed, watching over the shadow of the person he used to love, a shadow he could not escape even if he wanted to. The kaleidoscope pieces of a broken lens are still smashed all over his floor, nestled between the splints of wood boards and shining only when the moon comes up.

 

Two hearts aching. Two hearts craving.

 

Kihyun sits up, if only slightly, and Changkyun is prompted to follow him, a pregnant silence burdening their shoulders. Used to being a lone wolf, wishing only to then dismiss the impossible daydreams immediately, he does not know how to express what’s on his mind. The closer he got to the idea of reuniting with Kihyun, the more his courage appeared to fade away and left him stranded in this bed with a man who was neither a stranger nor a partner. A man who just was and existed more in his heart than anywhere else. _In this deep night, I’m broken forever,_ Kihyun had cried knowing nothing could glue back together what they had, nothing could glue him back together to what he never was. And that made it dangerous enough to lose Changkyun for good.

“Actually, I might be happy about this,” the younger mumbles, fingers inching sort of shy to cup Kihyun’s jaw and align it just right to lean in and press their lips together in greeting. In spite of a blurred vision, Kihyun smiles, colors bursting through the cracks only a golden love could fill and making art out of it.

 


End file.
